Decorations of Red on a Green Christmas Tree
by Lion in the Land
Summary: Morgan Grimes is having a blue Christmas after Alex dumped him.  To cope, he makes himself a playlist and goes to John Casey for advice.  Chuck is no help at all.  Written as a Christmas gift to Metropolis Kid.


**Note:** Enjoyment of this story will require a rewind to a couple episodes ago - the one where Casey got arrested at the end. And let's just ignore Lester's arrest, okay?

**Decorations of Red on a Green Christmas Tree**

Morgan Grimes stared through thick glass, watching puffy white flakes cascade around a boy, a girl, and a pair of droids. The flakes settled, so Grimes picked up the snowglobe and gave it another shake before turning to the computer in his Buy More office. He let out a sigh and resumed clicking. He'd been working on this project most of the afternoon.

…_I'll be so blue just thinking about you…_

A soft tap sounded on his open door as the melancholy lyrics played through his computer speakers.

"Sorry to bother you, sir." It was Jeff—well-rested Jeff, with his hair neatly combed and his shirt buttoned all the way to the top. "I just want to verify some information regarding the company Christmas party."

"Sure. Whatever." Morgan listlessly motioned him in.

"Lester said you approved a forty thousand dollar budget?"

Grimes pulled his mind from the song. "I…what?"

Jeff tightened his lips and shook his head in disapproval as he muttered to himself, "Just as I suspected."

"Forty dollars! I said f_orty_ dollars, period."

The newly clean-cut employee gave a firm nod. "I shall deliver the information, sir." He turned on his heel to leave, but paused when he glanced back at his manager, who'd just clicked the Download Now button. "Let no one who loves be called unhappy. Even love unreturned has its rainbow."

Grimes eyed him warily with a bushy eyebrow cocked and tensed.

Jeff only smiled reassuringly and gave credit for his quote: "J. M. Barrie."

"Of course, yeah. Hey, could you shut the door on your way out?" Morgan requested.

"Ay, ay, Cap'n." Jeff saluted and was gone.

Grimes had just enough time to start playing a new thirty-second sample before Lester Patel unceremoniously burst through the door.

"This is an outrage!" Lester pounded both fists onto the desk. "I can't work like this. You asked me to create the 'Christmas Experience' for the Buy More employees—"

"I didn't ask. You volunteered," Grimes corrected.

Lester let out high-pitched gasp, and then nodded, his dark eyes shining with their typical maniacal glint. "Yes, yes, I _volunteered_ because for the last ever-since-I've-been-here years, the Buy More holiday parties have sucked harder than Bernie Madoff on a teat full of ponzi schemes." His tone turned pleading. "Come on, this is the year we're going to change all that, man."

Lester walked around the desk and wrapped an arm around his boss' shoulder, pulling the full-bearded man into his side. Grimes' first instinct was to move away, but it had been so long since anyone had held him that he allowed himself to sink into his scrawny employee's embrace.

Lester held an opened hand outstretched out in front of him, beckoning Grimes into his vision. "Imagine, if you will, a Buy More Wonderland. The break room, a forest of sugary delights—chocolate fountains, strips of actual lickable wallpaper."

Grimes gazed absently at Lester's hand. "I've always wanted to do that."

Emboldened, Patel leaned down level with his boss and gestured outside the doorway. "Envision real snow falling inside the Buy More and smokin' hot waitresses wearing red velvet skirts cut up to their ying yangs."

Morgan snapped back into reality at the mention of women. "No. No! I told you forty dollars! Times are hard everywhere and that's all corporate has allocated per store."

Lester jerked back and returned to the employee-appropriate side of the desk, switching tactics. "You disgust me. You're going to let corporate tell you what to do?"

"Uh, yeah, sort of comes along with my job description, nimrod."

"Nim—" Lester lost his voice for a second as his eyes bulged in genuine offense. "Nimrod? You know, you've always been pretty much a tightass, but I've never ever heard you stoop so low as to call people names. That bitch really did a number on you."

Morgan's eyes flamed. "Get out," he choked, rounding his desk and pointing toward the door.

Lester took a step backward, but maintained his bravado. "Yeah, guess I'd better get out there and start making homemade playlists for the next Suckfest." He tilted his head and squinted to read his boss' computer monitor. "I'll be sure to include some Jim Reeves on there. What is that shi—"

Morgan grabbed a fistful of his employee's collar and pushed him out the door. As Lester stumbled into the store proper, Grimes thrust a finger toward him. "Be warned—other than employees, there are to be no women at that party! Morgan Grimes is officially _off_ women!"

Before he could retreat into his office, a beefy hand grabbed his forearm. Big Mike. The large man beamed his watery brown eyes on Morgan and said, "Son, the greatest tragedy of life is not that men perish, but that they cease to love."

"Wha…"

"Said by the great W. Somerset Maugham." Big Mike gave his girlfriend's son an affectionate tweak on the cheek and walked away.

With his fist balled tightly by his side, Morgan stepped swiftly into his office and slammed the door behind him, hoping everyone out there would take his violence as a sign he wanted to be left alone with his misery.

His misery was Alex. Or rather, the absence of Alex, one Colonel John Casey's daughter, and the only woman he'd ever truly loved. He'd honestly thought he'd found the girl he was going to spend the rest of his life with. But she'd made it more than clear she couldn't be happy being the girlfriend, much less the wife, of a spy. Oh, who was he kidding? He wasn't a spy. He was merely Chuck's friend who'd lucked into the whole life. But what a life it was…

He suddenly felt Rat Packish and found a rendition of the song he was looking for by Dean Martin. "Boom shock-a-locka," he muttered in triumph and hit the download button. This project was turning out to be quite therapeutic.

Just before closing, he synced his brand new playlist to his android and felt comforted as he slid the device into his pocket. On his way out of the store, he saw that Chuck had arrived at some point to put in face-time for his cover.

"Hey, buddy," Chuck said and gave his friend an amicable slug to the shoulder…along with a pity-filled pout. "Heard you've been having a rough time of it today."

Morgan's eyes flicked irritably around the store. "It's like living in a damned fishbowl." He turned his attention to his friend. "Just a warning—the Buy More is _not_ a conducive environment for a broken heart."

Chuck clapped his best bud on the shoulder and held him in a long-fingered grip. "I know you miss her, but don't cry because it's over; smile because it happened."

"Huh?"

Chuck smiled. "Dr. Seuss."

"Et tu, Bartowski?" Grimes leveled a dark look at his friend, and then turned to his employees at large as they approached the exit. "Okay, listen up, everybody. Any quotes by notable literaries are hereby declared inappropriate, insubordinate, and intolerable. Anyone found quoting a notable literary within the Buy More limits will be placed on suspension and possibly fired. No kidding!"

. . . . .

Grimes had the next day off work, and he used it visit a state facility he'd normally prefer to avoid. He was led through stark hallways, the harsh light of bare bulbs not doing much to warm the bleak, gray walls. His guide opened a door at the end of the hall and gestured toward one of the folding chairs in a long row.

"You've got fifteen minutes," the guard told him, and then assumed a rigid position next to the door.

Grimes sat in the indicted chair and second guessed his decision to come here, but relaxed immediately upon seeing the familiar face of John Casey, even if seeing him in a full-body, bright orange jumper was entirely unfamiliar. The strapping man scowled as he scanned the row of visitor stations, and when his eyes landed on Grimes—who smiled and waved—they narrowed further.

Casey strode over and swiped the phone from its cradle before slamming down into his chair, the flimsy metal creaking under his bulk. "Why are you here?" he growled.

Morgan's smile weakened, but he maintained his congeniality. "That color looks good on you." Interpreting the prisoner's glare as skeptical, he unwisely continued, "No really, the brightness—it brings out the blue in your eyes."

"Stop looking into my eyes, Grimes, and tell me why you're here."

Morgan's eyes shot down at his hands. "Of course, of course…I'm, I was hoping…" His gaze slowly trailed up to Casey's face again, but stayed on his chin, just to be safe. "Hey!" he exclaimed, suddenly realizing it was more than the colonel's outfit that was different. "Facial hair—I like."

"Goodbye," Casey grunted and pushed the phone back toward its resting place on the wall.

"No! Please! I really need to talk to you."

Casey held the phone halfway between his ear and the wall and tilted his head menacingly at his visitor, who looked very much like a lonely puppy dog desperately in need of a snuggle.

"No more commenting on your physical attractiveness. Promise," Grimes said.

Casey brought the phone back to his face, a low growl now making its way through the line.

Morgan exhaled in relief. "Thanks. I've been really struggling lately—emotionally—and I'm on the verge of a big decision. I just need to talk it out with someone."

"Touchy-feely's Bartowski's department," Casey grunted.

"Nah, he and everyone else just keep throwing out platitudes they think'll help, but don't. You're the only one I can trust to give it to me straight, no sugar-coating."

Casey tilted his head and shrugged as he considered that the moron made a good point.

"Great, you'll help me, then?" Morgan asked.

"I'll give you my honest opinion. Don't know if it'll help."

"Good enough. Well, what it all comes down to is the answer to this question: should I quit the spy business—"

"Yes, definitely," Casey answered without hesitation, and then sat back. "Hey what do you know? I _am_ pretty good at this personal advice shit."

"—so that I can be done with all the lying and have another chance with your daughter?" Grimes finished.

Casey's face clouded, and his knuckles seemed about to pop out of his skin as he squeezed the phone and ground his teeth.

"I'd feel bad walking out on Carmichael Industries, but it's hardly like I'd be leaving them in a lurch. Without the intersect, I'm not exactly an asset anymore." Morgan paused a moment, giving Casey a chance to interrupt, but continued when he was met with silence. "And I have to evaluate what I'm giving up to be a part of the organization—Alex. I know I don't have to tell you this, but she's a very special girl. One of a kind. I can have a hundred different career choices…well, half a dozen anyhow…maybe, but I could never have another woman like her, because there isn't another one.

"I think back to life before I found out about Chuck and the CIA and realize that my dream then was to be the Buy More manager, and now I've got that. I can make that the numero uno career dream again. I could be happy with that…if I had Alex too."

Casey's attitude softened during Morgan's speech. The idiot really did care for his daughter. "Grimes," he said hesitantly, and when the younger man turned his puppy-browns on him, he pushed forth. "Sometimes women…sometimes they say things to make things easier for us. Cushion the blow."

"The blow?"

"Yeah—the break-up. Rather than come out and tell you they're just not that into you, that the novelty's worn off, they make up some other excuse so it'll be easier to take."

Grimes' innocent eyes opened widely as the truth of Casey's words hit him, and an ill feeling gnawed at the pit of his stomach. "You think…the spy excuse was just a cushion? Did she tell you that?"

"No, she didn't tell me, but I've learned a thing or two about women over the years. And I also know how to look at facts. The fact is she knows I'm leading the same kind of life, but she's not pushed me aside. She accepts my lifestyle because she loves me."

"And…she doesn't love me." Morgan let his voice trail off and stared down at the drab, colorless counter.

"I'm sorry, Grimes. You asked for my honest opinion, and that's what I gave you."

Casey had apologized. John Casey _never_ apologized. That's when Morgan knew for sure the ex-CIA agent meant what he said and this wasn't just another ploy to shelter his daughter. Casey'd been right all along—Morgan Grimes wasn't good enough for Alex. It had just taken Alex a little bit longer than her father to figure that out. Long enough for Grimes to fall helplessly in love with her.

Morgan was suddenly desperate to get back home, alone, with his playlist. He nodded furiously, stammering, "Okay, well, yeah, good talk. Good talk." In a blur he said goodbye, hung up the phone, and sped out of there.

. . . . .

The day had turned to dusk and darkened to night, but Morgan hadn't bothered to turn on any lamps. The only sources of light in the black apartment were the bright dots on the electronics necessary to fill the living room with the sound of his newly-acquired music. He lay half slumped on the sofa and alternated between singing along and pathetically moaning in rhythm. When there was a knock at his door, he ignored it.

"Morgan, I know you're in there."

Grimes pulled a throw pillow over his eyes and shouted, "Go away, Chuck!"

"You know that's not going to happen. Sarah's out Christmas shopping with Ellie, so I've got all night to wait if that's what it takes. You know I'll do it...hey, the door's unlocked."

Chuck walked in carrying an armload of Chinese takeout. "Jeez, welcome to the crypt," he said and flicked a switch, illuminating the Christmas tree. "That's better." He lit lamps on his way to the kitchen to set the food down. When he looked at his friend prone on the couch, he frowned but quickly resumed smiling. He was determined to infect his friend with his cheery attitude, rather than visa versa.

"Is this Elvis?" he asked jovially, referring to the song that played throughout the apartment. The harmonizing of the King's background singers sounded merry enough, but then he caught a lyric:

…_That's when those blue memories start calling…_

"Oh, no, no, no. We've got to get you some different music," Chuck said, walking over to the device and forwarding to the next track. A zippy horn instrumental started up, and when he saw "Michael Bublé" pop up as the artist, he began to walk away, but froze in place when the smooth baritone belted out:

…_I'll have a blue Christmas without you…_

"Huh?" Chuck forwarded to the next track and recognized the gruff voice of Santa with a tenacious cold:

_What's this? A letter for me? Dear Santa…_

_I'll have a—_

He clicked to the next track—Celine Dion—and the next—the cast of _glee_—and felt like Jack Nicholson's wife in _The__ Shining_: every single track was "Blue Christmas."

"You've got to be kidding me—even the Beach Boys?" Chuck groaned in dismay.

"Everyone sings 'Blue Christmas.'" Morgan droned, his face half smushed into the sofa cushion. "Because everyone has a heart, and the heart is a fragile, fragile thing."

"Well, this is _not_ healthy. You've got to listen to something else. Something lighter."

He was about to stop the playlist altogether, when Morgan said, "Go to track twenty-three."

Chuck doubtfully did as his friend asked and smirked when he saw the words "Porky Pig" light up on the display.

_I'll have a ubba-dee-ubba-dee-uh-bluuue uh-chee-uh-Christmas wee-uh-without you…_

Morgan smiled and Chuck let the song play, figuring this might do the trick.

"Do you hear them laughing?" Morgan asked.

"I sure do, buddy."

"They're laughing cuz he's a pig. And he stutters. And he hurts. He's pouring his heart out on stage and everybody's laughing." Morgan burst into tears and clutched the pillow to his chest. "They're laughing at him, Chuck. His piggy heart is broken they're l-laughing!"

Morgan buried his face in the pillow, shaking. He was overcome with anguish and no longer able to continue. Chuck had rarely felt so uncomfortable around his best friend and decided just then that perhaps Grimes would benefit from a little more time and space to himself.

"I'll just…I'm gonna put the food here in the fridge for when you get hungry and…ooh, I should probably get the mu shu pork outta here…huh, might need a bit of rice with that." He snatched up a couple small cartons of food and quietly let himself out while Morgan continued to wail.

. . . . .

By the next afternoon, Morgan was feeling a little bit better. He was still convinced his life would never be the same without Alex and had asked Big Mike to oversee the Buy More for the day, but his tears seemed to have dried up at last, and he'd been able to polish off a good portion of the food Chuck had brought. The playlist still hummed quietly in the background, like an audio security blanket.

He'd showered and put on a fresh set of clothes and was doing some light cleaning around the apartment when a window at the back of the apartment opened and John Casey slithered through. This time the colonel was dressed all in black, from his head to his foot. The monochromatic scheme did nothing for his eyes.

"What are you doing here?" Casey demanded upon seeing his roomie. "Shouldn't you be at work?"

"Shouldn't you be in prison?"

Casey raised an eyebrow and gave Grimes a threatening glare. "I'm not here. You didn't see me." He went into his bedroom and began rummaging through drawers and throwing undisclosed items into the canvas bag he carried by his side.

Curious, Morgan wandered over to the open doorway and peered in. "Since you're not here, can you also _not_ tell me what you're doing?"

Casey continued moving swiftly through the room, sliding aside floorboards and opening openings Grimes had never known were there. "As far as anyone on the outside knows, I'm still in prison. But intel has a way of leaking, so as an extra precaution I'm getting the hell out of Dodge—won't tell you where I'm going, but as an extra-extra precaution I'm bringing Alex and her mother with me. The scum after me won't hesitate to use anyone I care about to draw me out."

"What about Sarah?"

"She can take care of herself." He glanced quickly at Morgan. "You should stick close to the Bartowskis for a while."

"How long will you be gone?"

"Until we clear up this mess. A couple weeks at least."

"Ah, well, at least you'll get to be with family for Christmas."

Casey halted his rush and took a brief moment to smirk. "Yeah, I guess so."

Morgan sighed wistfully. "So she'll be doing all right with her Christmas of white…"

Casey's eyes narrowed. "How'd you know about the snow?"

Morgan shrugged. "Lucky guess."

Casey examined him and decided he was telling the truth. There were lots of places in the world with snow this time of year, so the chances of Grimes being able to pinpoint the exact location with that minutia of information he'd just let slip were extremely low. "Nice _not_ chatting with you. Gotta go." He hefted the full sack over his shoulder and headed to the open sash at the back of the apartment.

"Tell Alex I said 'Merry Christmas,'" Morgan called out, pushing through the pain that sliced through him as he said it.

"Oh right, almost forgot." Casey set down his pack and sifted through it. He pulled out a small, wrapped box with a bright blue ribbon. "Here, Alex asked me to give you this.

Grimes took it and read the tag: _Don__'__t__ open__ '__till__ Christmas._ "Thanks," he murmured, staring at the gift. When he finally looked up, Casey was gone.

. . . . .

For the next several days, Alex's present sat under Morgan's tree—unopened, but touched, weighed, and gently shaken many times. He knew not to expect too much from it. This would merely be a "friend" gift. But she didn't have to give him anything at all, so this proved she still cared for him…as a friend, yes, but even still, that was better than not caring at all.

After closing the Buy More on Christmas Eve, he entered his empty apartment and flicked on the tree lights, looking immediately at the small box now bathed in the warm, LED glow. He went to the tree and knelt, taking the package into his lap as he had so many times before. Reading the tag again, he suddenly wondered—could Christmas Eve be considered Christmas?

Lots of families opened their gifts on Christmas Eve…and Santa made his rounds that very night…plus, Morgan was going to be busy all the next day, going to his mother's for Christmas morning breakfast and then to Ellie and Awesome's for Christmas dinner…

Two seconds later, torn wrappings lay strewn about Morgan Grimes, and a polished-oak block sat on his lap. A bluish-silver snowflake was carved on the block's lid.

"A holiday trinket." He tried to ignore the disappointment he'd just heard in his own voice. She'd probably purchased the generic-looking decoration by the gross and given them to all of her obligatory giftees. He sighed and lifted the small, hinged lid, unleashing a tinkling of music. Inside, tiny penguins spun on a mirrored pond.

It only took him a few seconds to recognize the tune—it was the very one he'd been listening to in a multitude of iterations for nearly two weeks straight. He noticed a piece of paper wedged into the inside of the lid and pried it out. Unfolding it, he read:

_ Morgan,_

_ I think my dad's right: love is a risk no matter what—so I better make sure the guy's worth it. You're worth it, Morgan. _

_ When I come back home, I think we should give "us" another try. I hope you agree. I'll be praying that you do. I miss you._

_ Alex_

. . . . .

"A merry Christmas to you!" Morgan boomed as he stepped into Ellie and Devon's apartment with the largest goose anyone there had ever seen—it was at least twice as big as baby Clara.

"Did you run that over on your way here?" Sarah asked, sounding oddly hopeful as she eyed the goose's head bobbing at the end of its long, raw neck.

"What a delightful girl," Morgan chuckled. "This is my contribution to the Christmas feast."

"But Devon's made at least eight pounds of lasagna," Ellie said. "And that…thing"—she gestured at the goose—"is going to take _hours_ to cook."

"I didn't hear Big Mike complain about the giant ham I just brought to my mom's," Morgan replied, his ridiculous grin not fading a smidge.

"Was that in carcass form too?" Ellie challenged.

"Don't worry, babe." Devon stepped up from behind and massaged her shoulder. "I'll stick the bird in the fridge and then cook it up tomorrow morning to bring to the homeless shelter for the lunch shift I volunteered to work."

With a doubtful frown, Ellie watched her husband take the floppy fowl from her guest. Meanwhile, Morgan beamed a smile upon the room, looking from Sarah to Chuck to Ellie to Awesome and finally to Clara. "God bless us, every one," he gushed.

Chuck took a sip from his goblet of Chardonnay and winked at his best friend, who now stood next to him. "I get what's going on here. You finally stopped listening to that song."

"Quite the opposite, actually," Morgan assured him. Then he leaned in and whispered, "She misses me too. Wants to give the Morganater another shot."

Chuck's eyes flashed in the only way they could these days—with happiness for his friend. He lifted his glass and Morgan tapped it with his fist. "Cheers," they said in unison.

And they all had a very merry Christmas.

. . . .

This story was written as a Christmas gift to Metropolis Kid. :) Hope you had fun with it, _ Metro. ;) And I hope anyone else stopping by did too.

Merry Christmas!


End file.
